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christian poem

bruits qui tâchent de déchirer
la fille, art de thou viennent pour mourir
le corps peut confiner
tristes sont ils qui savent pas l'amour
j'ai entendu le vent toute la journée
sous ma fenêtre dans une rue de ville
parmi les montagnes j'ai erré
cette année
je suis las d'être amer et las d'être sage

 



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